


Stab in the dark.

by RussianSunflower3



Series: Sunflower's WHUMPTOBER 2018 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Hospital, Knives, Mugging, Prompt STABBED, Stabbing, Team as Family, Whumptober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 23:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianSunflower3/pseuds/RussianSunflower3
Summary: Hanamaki had fallen asleep on the train home, missed his stop, and ended up extremely far away where the train terminated.Having to run back through the streets, in the bad parts of town, isn't his ideal situation.It's about to become a lot worse.





	1. Flickering streetlights.

Hanamaki hadn’t meant to be running so late. He hadn’t meant to be walking through the streets in the bad part of town in pitch darkness. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the train.

But here he was, jogging from streetlight to streetlight, trying to avoid the shadows as he made his way home. The train had terminated at least 45 minutes from his stop, so he had all that way to walk, plus the little path home. 

Breathing heavily, Hanamaki paused under the beam of one streetlight to adjust his pale green scarf. Each exhale fogs in the air, tiny puffs of cloud against the cold. Having caught his breath, Hanamaki straightens up and sighs deeply.

“Great… I’m so lost…” He pulls his phone - his very _expensive_ phone - out of his pocket. The map shows him the route to take and he exhales again, this time with relief. He adjusts the strap of his bag and sets off at another jog, heading towards the street he needs to take to reach the nearest bus station.

But the streets are getting darker and the streetlights are flickering, some of them broken completely. Alleyways stretch outwards from the street, their shadows consuming everything that enters, littered with bins and garbage and all manners of questionable substances.

It smells like urine, and Hanamaki can’t help but tug his scarf up to cover up the lower half of his face. Vision obstructed, he doesn’t notice something very important. From where he had flashed his phone earlier, something had been moving in the shadows, following him.

These were the parts of town with high criminal activity, after all, and Hanamaki had made a huge mistake in showing off his expense - both with his phone and his Aobajousai uniform. Nobody in these parts could afford a private school fee, and that marked him as a _target_.

“Hey.” At the quiet sound, Hanamaki slowed to a halt, looking over his shoulder with confusion. There was… Nobody there? He stepped around to face the direction he had just been in, still breathing a little heavy from his jog, an inkling of fear starting to trickle in.

“... H-Hello?” No answer. No movement. Hanamaki’s hands tightened around the shoulder strap of his bag. Something didn’t feel quite right. It was unsettling, and putting him on edge.

Something dangerous lurked nearby.

“Hello?” He called out louder, more confidently, even though his heart was starting to race. In times like this, he knew he had to identify whatever it was unnerving him, and then make a fight or flight decision. Hanamaki was down-to-earth enough to know that.

So, why he didn’t just run immediately, he didn’t know.

“... Alright then… I’ll just be, uh… On my way.” His brows furrowed as nothing else disturbed the evening air, shadows seeming to stretch further as the fear set in, an uncomfortable churn in his stomach. 

The split second he turned back towards the direction he was facing, there was a blade against his neck and an intimidating figure blocking his path. Hanamaki was used to blockers on the court. _Not_ people in the dark, appearing seemingly from nowhere, holding a knife to his throat.

“Holy _shit_ , give a guy some warning, would ya?” He swallowed as the blade pressed a little harder, pressure against his adam’s apple. Stormy dark blue eyes narrowed up at him from below a hood, a mask with some kind of gang identification tag covering everything else.

“You’re a rich kid.” The corners of Hanamaki’s lips twisted, trying to fight back a nervous grin. He never had been good in confrontation - he tended to laugh.

“I’m… I’m not _not_ a rich kid… Aha…”

“Shut up!” Whether Hanamaki was going to comply or not, the heavy fist that landed against his stomach made the decision for him. He coughed out bile, gasping for air as he hunched over. The knife had been removed, but before he could recover, he was roughly pushed down an alleyway, barely remaining standing.

“What- what the fuck?” Pain erupts down his back as he’s slammed against the back wall of the alley, feeling the could, rough brick through his blazer. One hand around his neck keeps him pinned there, and the other holds the knife - more like a boxcutter - pointed at his chest.

“I _said_ , you’re a rich kid, aren’t you, you fuckin’ snob?” Hanamaki tries to make sense of what’s happening. It’s all happening too fast and instinctive fear is clouding his judgement. He’s yanked forwards by his collar, then slammed back again, definitely hitting his head this time.

“Ow-!” Oh god, he’s terrified. He’s terrified and he’s going to start babbling and is he going to _die here all alone-_

“Answer me!”

“I-... Yes? I’m- I’m a rich kid, I think? Depends what you class as _rich_ , but-” Another slam. He can see spots in his vision, and the hand around his throat tightens to restrict his breathing a little. He tries to claw away at the hands, but then…

Then the pain becomes all too real, the blade of the knife-boxcutter thing cutting deep into his arm as it’s pinned back against the wall too. A squeeze around his throat prevents him screaming, just a choked gasp that _burns_.

Hanamaki sobs as the knife is removed, hearing the squelch of flesh and catching rivulets of crimson dripping from the deep, untidy slice. It hurts so bad…

“What’s a spoiled piece of shit like you doing here, runnin’ around like you own the fucking place? These are _my_ streets! An’ any _prey_ that wanders here is mine for the picking…” The blade is dragged down his arm, across the chest of his uniform, the pointed end pressing against the skin but not breaking it.

Yet.

“I- I’m just trying to get home! I- I got off the wrong stop, I-!” Piercing agony exploded in his abdomen, the knife stabbed into him with ferocious strength. He could do little but shakily draw in a breath, and finally, the hand was removed from his throat. 

But there was no way he could run. 

Not when the pain kept him grounded, had him hunch over grasping at his injury. He knew to keep pressure on it, on hand on his abdomen, the other on his upper arm. His assailant flicked the blade to shake off extra blood.

“Quit blabbering. You’re fucking annoying.” Hanamaki went to speak again, ask what he wanted, but he saw the guy gearing up for _another_ attack, and promptly shut his jaw so quickly that his teeth clacked. He was in real danger here.

“Huh. Fast learner. Now. Pass me your fucking phone.” 

“My- My phone?” A mistake. He never should have spoken. The knife digs into his again, this time his shoulder, and the force of the attack slams him back against the wall so hard, he feels something break for sure. He manages to hold back a shout of pain, instead only whining.

“It’s in my back pocket… The- The left…” A phone could always be replaced, but Hanamaki knew he could not. His head was filling with scenarios of never returning home, what his mother and sisters would think, what his out-of-school friends would think, and worst of all, what would happen to the team.

He loved them. They were his family through something stronger than blood, and he knew they loved him too. 

He knew, logically, that he should have been more devastated by the thought of dying and leaving behind his biological family. But the team meant more to him than anything, and he couldn’t bear to cause them such pain. He didn’t want anyone to hurt like he was hurting now, he didn’t want them to have to _mourn_ him. So he simply had to survive.

_Survive_.

_**Survive!** _

If that meant sacrificing his phone, so be it. The phone was taken from his back pocket, and those dark blue eyes regarded it with a spark of interest, flipping it over and then pocketing it for himself.

“Nice. Looks like I got some juicy harvesting here~.” Hanamaki’s eyes widened. Harvesting?! Was this- Was this not the end of it?! Nervous, he wet his dry lips, trying to speak without his voice cracking from the agony.

“Can- can I go now? You have my phone… I need- need to get home, plea-.” A kick around the face, a knife to the thigh, and this time, Hanamaki couldn’t hold back his cry. But something told him that nobody was going to come to his aid, no matter how desperate the situation.

This section of town was in poverty, and he was just a toy to them. Just a victim. Something to steal from, to _harvest_. He could understand. He was rich, he was unfairly rich, and the people here were probably scraping by.

But that didn’t explain the _violence_!   
Couldn’t this person have just asked?! 

“Keep your goddamn mouth shut! Give me your wallet!”

“You could have just _asked_ , without the stabby thingy! I have an open heart and I’d prefer not to have an open wound!” Those dark blue eyes narrow with a shadow of anger, stepping towards Hanamaki with the intention to intimidate.

It works, as Hanamaki tries to shrink away, small whimper escaping. It hurts. Everything _hurts_. His back aches, his head is pounding, and he can feel himself starting to get light headed from the blood loss.

“Pl-Please… No more…”

“Give. Me. Your wallet!” The knife is brandished close to his face, and Hanamaki sees the reflection of his eyes in the blade, eyelids raised and pupils dilated, in the spaces between where the iron is streaked with blood. _His_ blood.

“Take it, just take it! Inside- Blazer p-pocket, inside on the- on the left!” He can feel himself getting hysterical with the rush of adrenaline and the sheer terror coursing through his veins. He needs to calm down. He needs to breathe, even through this agony. 

His blazer is roughly pushed aside, dislodged from his shoulder and Hanamaki chokes back a cry of pain as the blood-soaked fabric is ripped away from the shoulder stab wound. Rough, rushed hands rummage through his inside pocket, discarding stationary and plucking out the wallet.

The assailant picks through it, pocketing any cash and dropping loyalty cards to the ground. The one he does keep, he glances over, and Hanamaki can see the shape of his twisted grin even through the mask.

“Your PIN.” Ah, so it’s the payment card Hanamaki keeps on him at all times. Too dazed to answer, Hanamaki only realises he’s dicing with danger when the tip of the knife presses deep into his calf.

_‘No, no! Not my leg! Please, no! I need that for volleyball!!!’_ Panic almost consumes him, his heart beating so fast he feels like it might explode in his chest, his whole life flashing before his eyes as he thinks of what he’d going to lose.

“Tell me the PIN or I’ll make it so you never walk again!” 

“I don’t know it, I don’t know it! It’s- It’s contactless an’ I never use it for big purchases so- so I don’t know it!” The knife stabs into his calf, once, twice, three times, blood quickly soaking through his uniform trousers, spreading outwards towards where his thigh already bleeds a little.

Then suddenly, just as Hanamaki thinks _this is it_ , just as he’s ready to pass out from a mix of pain, panic, and blood loss, the attacker jolts up like they’re startled. In a frenzy, they gather - or ‘harvest’ - anything he can take from Hanamaki, and then flees.

Alone, abandoned, and in agony, Hanamaki curls up on his side, trying not to make his injuries flare up. He’s so dizzy… So light headed… Everything hurts, and it would be better if it just… didn’t… He’s so tired…

Hanamaki forces himself to sit up, shuddering breaths as he pulls himself up the wall and to his feet. It’s almost enough to make him pass out immediately, but he holds onto his fading consciousness like a falling man hanging on a thread.

He can’t stop here.

He’ll _die_ if he stops. And he refuses to die, cast aside in some alleyway, bleeding out so far from home. He manages to make it to the entrance of the alleyway and _just_ into the flickering beam of a streetlight, before his feet stumble and his legs fold underneath him, sending him to the floor.

As Hanamaki gives in to the darkness, he wonders what spooked his assailant. 

As Hanamaki’s senses fade, he’s sure he hears a chorus calling him - Hanamaki-senpai, Makki, Takahiro - and the thunder of feet rushing towards him. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

_ “It’s okay, Makki. We’ve got you now.” _


	2. Bright blue.

Bright, blinding light. A hint of blue. An incessant beeping. 

Hanamaki’s first thought is _‘Oh shit, I’m alive?’_. His second thought is jumbled and messy, tangled with the following onslaught of his mind as he tries to work out what the fuck happened and where the fuck he was.

It only takes 4 seconds for him to try to sit up, eyes flying open and gulping down a massive inhale of air that leaves him panting. The pain all hits him at once, erupting from the many places on his body where he was stabbed, slammed against a wall, and kicked.

“Easy there, easy… You’re okay, you’re okay…” A large, warm hand gently lands on his back and another on his chest, and Hanamaki flinches purely on instinct before realising it means no harm.

“Lay back down, come on now.” He obeys, if only because the voice is so comforting and the way he’s eased back down reminiscent of when he was a child, sick with flu. As he settles back into the bed, he realises the light blue is not the sky.

It’s the ceiling of a private hospital room. He’s in hospital.

“How-...?” The dryness of his throat cuts him off with a croak, and instantly, his head is tilted up, a glass of water pressed to his lips. He drinks greedily, sighing with relief, closing his eyes to preserve the feeling of being safe.

“Everyone came to find you. They were worried.” Wait. _Now_ he recognises the voice. He opens his eyes slowly, shuffling round to face his visitor.

“They…? The team, Sensei?” Irihata nods with a placid smile. There’s concern fraught at the edges of his crinkled eyes, but he’s calm. Hanamaki is thankful, because it calms him too.

“Yes. When we received word you hadn’t returned home, the boys insisted on searching for you. And _thankfully_ , Matsukawa has the password to that ‘find my phone’ thing you keep on your laptop. Once we knew your general location…”

“You all came looking for me.” A breathless laugh leaves Hanamaki’s lips, reaching up to stressfully rub the back of his head, noting the bandages there.

“That was- That was dangerous.” Smile fading to a frown, Irihata leans forwards and gently tilts Hanamaki’s chin upwards. He isn’t used to the boy hanging his head so low, like he’s still scared.

“For all the world, I’m _glad_ they were reckless. If we hadn’t found you when we did…” His voice trails off, but Hanamaki knows exactly what he means. Irihata’s hand withdraws, and Hanamaki turns his gaze to the hospital nightgown. He traces his fingers over the stab wound on his abdomen, then cross his legs so he can find the three on his calf and one on his thigh.

“... Am I gonna be okay…?”

“Physically, yes. You’re all stitched up and just need to heal. Mentally and emotionally… That’s going to take a little more time.”

“M-Mhm. I’m still a little… Shaken, I think. I didn’t think it would ever happen to me.”

“Nobody does, child. Nobody does.” Hanamaki sighs. There’s a moment of silence. And then, his shoulders start to shake and his eyes fill with water and he hiccups, wiping at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Irihata stands to comfortingly rub his back, and Hanamaki falls apart, knowing he’s safe.

He sobs and wails, lets out all that bottled up fear, because he knows he won’t be judged or hurt for it here. When he’s all out of tears, and exhausted, Iriata ushers him into lying down again, tucking the covers around him and making sure he’s comfortable.

“Try and get some sleep, okay? The rest of the team will be here after school, and your mother will be by after work.”

“M’kay…” The thought of seeing the team again, seeing his best friends and the family he’s come to love, helps Hanamaki to relax, just a little. His eyelids flutter closed, and even though he knows he’s going to be plagued by trauma and nightmares for a long time after this, he can’t help but smile slightly.

He loved Aobajousai. And now, he loved it more than ever. Loved _them_ more than ever. He hoped that one day, even after their current first years have graduated, they’ll still be this close knit group that hangs out willingly, play volleyball together, and _saves each other’s lives_.

But maybe that’s just a stab in the dark~.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the first of whumptober and I've already put Makki in hospital. Huh.  
> Stick with the series to see how long it takes me to kill someone~!
> 
> Please kudos and comment! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Please kudos and comment~!


End file.
